The Agent in the Pump house
by GutterCatVsTheJets
Summary: Part Three...Booth has to investigate the murder of a fellow Agent in West Virginia. Brennan feels like he's shutting her out. They must work together, closer than ever before, especially when Booth becomes the next target...Case type fic...
1. Part 1

**Author's Note: Let's say this is set sometime towards the end of Season Two – if you want specifics, read on through to the next few chapters (when I post them!). My first Bones fic – I write House MD fic under a different guise, just in case you were wondering. Updates should be a little more frequent than weekly** **(how's that for an estimate?) - it will be case based, with a few twists and turns to keep you interested. Enjoy! Disclaimer: I own nothing (except the plot and some of the locals...) **

"Booth, could you at least look at the road?" Brennan pleaded helplessly from the passenger seat of the FBI issue vehicle. For the third time in under an hour her partner was taking a call on his cell whilst driving. It wouldn't have been too much of an issue if they were casually driving through D.C, on the streets that Booth knew like the back of his hand; his multi-tasking skills could just about handle that, with minimal trouble. What _did_ pose a problem were the dark, unfamiliar roads of Berkeley Springs, West Virginia.

Once again, Booth had taken the Anthropologist away from her natural habitat, namely the Jeffersonian, and persuaded her to let him drive her across state to look at some important remains. What he had failed to tell her so far were the details of why, and where, they were going so far from D.C. From the moment he'd dragged her away from her office at 8:37pm, his ear had been glued to his cell, taking call after call. Brennan had never seen him wound so tight, practically snapping orders down the phone at the caller. She wasn't sure she liked 'bossy Booth' very much.

As another cliff-face loomed against her window, Brennan had no doubts that the ridges and valleys that made this particular stretch of road so dangerous at night, made it equally as breathtaking during the day. She decided she'd like to witness that herself, and that doing so would involve actually surviving her partner's unusually reckless driving.

Booth snapped the phone closed, holding it thoughtfully for a second before putting it within grabbing distance – something told him he'd be getting plenty more calls before the night was through. He caught sight of Brennan squirming in her seat as he clipped the verge slightly, throughout the distracting phone calls he hadn't really realised just how recklessly he'd been taking the corners. Easing his foot off the gas, he slowed the car to a more comfortable pace, deciding an explanation might be in order, an apology of sorts to his female passenger who'd been incredibly patient with him from the point he'd dragged her away from the Jeffersonian and into Morgan County. He figured he owed her that much.

"This is what we've got, Bones-" he started, ignoring the look she shot at him for calling her by _that_ name. "Agent by the name of Joe Thomas, investigating the murder of one Hank Chapman – whose body was found in the Cacapon Resort State Park by a couple of hikers nine days ago – Agent Thomas followed a lead, wound up in Bath, interviewed a couple of locals before he went missing two days ago..." he paused, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Brennan could sense the tension radiating from her partner, even in the dim moonlight she could see the frown on his features as he negotiated a fierce right-hand bend. He was still driving on auto-pilot, his mind running a thousand possibilities of what may have happened to Agent Thomas.

"Approximately one hour ago another body was discovered in a disused maintenance building just out of Berkeley Springs, badly burned...we need an I.D as soon as possible-"

"Which I'd have a better chance of giving you as long as we make it there in one piece!" Brennan noted, unable to hold her tongue as an approaching corner loomed on them, Booth braking sharply at the last minute to take it. "Why are you in charge of a case this far out of D.C?" the question had been eating away at her, why not get it out whilst she had his undivided attention...sort of.

"Because it's not a question of Geography, Bones. A Federal Agent has disappeared – and a body has turned up." Booth replied, taking a small measure of comfort from the illuminated sky up ahead. They were getting close. The relief was soon overshadowed by dread – would his mystery corpse turn out to be Joe Thomas..._Special Agent Joe Thomas. _A fellow Agent. A good guy. A friend...

"Is there anything to suggest that the body is that of Agent Thomas?" Brennan asked, seeing Booth's eyes flash her way at the Agent's name. "Other than a wild theory that puts one man's disappearance with the discovery of a set of burned remains in a nearby town? Coincidence, maybe?"

Booth ignored her, choosing to concentrate on following signs leading him to the desolate area where the body had been found. He already knew the outcome of this road trip – Joe Thomas had been murdered by the same son of a bitch he'd been chasing for the murder of Hank Chapman. No matter how hard he tried to block it out, his gut feeling told him that he was right, and it was making him feel physically sick. He was a Good guy. Good guys shouldn't get killed for protecting people against murderers...

"Booth?" he heard an anxious voice beside him, Bones had finished reeling off the dozen possibilities she'd come up with already as to why his gut instinct could be wrong, and then realised that he wasn't even listening. "Who found the body?" she repeated, seeing that she had his wavered attention for the time being.

"Sheriff got an anonymous tip off, probably some local looking to cash in on some scrap metal before the old Pump house gets torn down...figures he's safe rooting around, area's all sealed off ready for demolition – he walks in – bam! Kicks a skull, shines his flashlight over it, craps his pants before he hightails it outta there quicker than Forest Gump..."

"Forest Gump?" Brennan felt a tinge of familiarity with the name, but couldn't pinpoint where she'd heard it.

"It's a film – you know what? Never mind." Booth shook his head in mock annoyance. He'd learned to take Brennan's naivety towards popular culture with a large pinch of salt, he was sure that nothing could surprise him in that department nowadays. "What I'm saying is that this anonymous tipster just wants his prints to be taken out of the running for lead suspects, okay?" Still annoyed, still wound up.

"You got that whole scenario purely from the fact that the person who tipped off the local sheriff wanted to remain anonymous?" Brennan asked, amazed that Booth would try and figure out something as pivotal to the investigation as how the body was initially found – especially since they hadn't even reached the crime scene yet.

"Sure." Booth replied nonchalantly, leaving the main road and leading them towards an array of vehicles parked some way down a rough track. _It beats thinking about how the body ended up there in the first place... _he thought as he killed the engine. "Time to do your thing, Bones." he announced, exiting the car before she could even scowl at him.

Brennan stepped into the cold night air and shuddered, feeling an icy bite on her cheeks and neck. Already, she regretted letting Booth drag her away from what was going to be a long stint at the Jeffersonian, cataloging and archiving specimens from the early eighteenth century. She'd been looking forward to having the Lab to herself for the whole weekend, and Booth was all too aware of that fact, especially since it had been the source of his amusement for the past week. _Bones,_ y_ou're the only person I know who looks forward to spending the weekend at work! _

She pulled on her thick jacket and glanced over at her partner, who was talking to the Sheriff – or who Brennan _perceived_ to be the Sheriff. The tall, graying man seemed to be in charge of the small babble of lawmen currently rubbing their hands together and throwing curious glances her way. They'd obviously been waiting for the Anthropologist to arrive before they dared move the bones, the cellphone conversations with Booth in the car must have been to ensure that nobody got access before she did. Was it for her benefit, or for his own? Something about this assignment had him on edge – and Brennan was sure it was more than the fact that the victim _could_ potentially be a fellow FBI Agent. This was far more personal than Booth was willing to let on. She felt annoyed that he was keeping her in the dark for this one, especially after all they'd been through together. Didn't he trust her?

"Bones!" Booth beckoned her over, introducing her to Sheriff Keller. Brennan noted the Sheriff's forced geniality towards her as he nodded his 'hello'. Someone else who wasn't too impressed with Booth's late night FBI excursion...

"Where were the remains found?" Brennan asked, equaling the Sheriff's hostile reception with her coolly, clipped question. She didn't want to waste time with niceties any more than he did.

"This way, Bones." Booth grabbed her by the crook of the elbow, smirking at her directness towards the senior law enforcer. Sometimes her brash social skills came in handy, particularly when an addled Sheriff was keen to chew the ear off the FBI agent who'd sent him out in freezing conditions to guard a charred corpse.

As Booth led her through a thicket of unruly branches and bush, Brennan couldn't help but notice how much of a hurry the Agent seemed to be in. She asked, "Are we on a tight deadline, or something?" _Come on, Booth, talk to me..._

"It's cold, Bones." he replied, with a touch too much forced enthusiasm. "I don't want you complaining when you get the Flu tomorrow."

"Influenza's typically an airborne virus – unless you think we're going to bump into a local who's out for a late-night run...even then, I doubt they'd be able to make it this far out of town-"

"Okay, what say we continue this walk in silence?" Booth huffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

_Blown it already _Brennan thought, gazing up at the huge Pump house looming ahead of them. Rotting timber hung from the external walls like a limp, decaying cladding. She imagined the Pump house had once been a magnificent building, a hundred or so years ago. It seemed a shame that such an architecturally sound building had been left to ruin, destined for demolition.

The Sheriff's men had set up three small spotlights, each pointing and creating their own imposing shadows over the entrance to the building. Booth shone his flashlight along the floor as they stepped through what was left of the door. Bird's feathers, pieces of ironwork and dirt were strewn haphazardly all over the wooden floorboards, making it difficult to locate the remains to begin with. Brennan caught sight of the skull and fell into the routine of analyzing the 'who and how' of the situation. She sensed Booth impatiently shuffling beside her, his flashlight hovering over the wider area in an attempt at looking for telltale footprints or other such clues. Or maybe he just preferred any alternative to having look at the body. With that thought, she commandeered his flashlight, practically yanking it from his hand in an attempt at creating a workable light over her bones.

"This is only a partial skeleton..." Brennan said, "he's missing everything from the waist down." she frowned with Booth in shared confusion before taking out her digital camera and snapping some quick pictures of the area. There was no point in wasting more time than necessary on fieldwork, not when she could be examining the bones in a nice, frost-free lab. Strategically positioned photographs would have to do with regards to the crime scene layout, _maybe Booth could arrange a nice daytime visit next time..._ "Booth, we need to get these to a lab, or a nearby morgue – anywhere where there's enough light for me to actually determine cause of death...I can get an I.D from what we've got here – we don't need to stay."

"Okay, you don't have to tell me twice." Booth replied, clicking his fingers in a triumphant gesture before sticking his head out the door and whistling for one of the Sheriff's men to get busy. Nothing would make him happier than getting out of the damp, intimidating Pump house – even if it did mean having to watch Bones pick apart the remains of, what seemed too likely to be, an old friend..._What a way to spend a Friday night..._

"Booth."

He spoke over his shoulder, from the doorway "They'll take them to the local morgue, Bones – just out of town-"

"Booth." Brennan repeated lowly, causing Booth to turn away from the door and back to her. "They searched this area before we arrived, right?"she asked, her voice verging on the point of whispering.

"Yeah, the Sheriff had his guys comb the place about ten minutes before we got here-"

"So who's he?" Brennan pointed to a doorway a hundred yards across the empty room where a man standing in the shadows seemed to be watching them intently.

Before Booth even had a chance to shout 'FBI, freeze!' the unknown man bolted. Brennan took chase, armed solely with Booth's flashlight, which she was certain would make a formidable weapon if used correctly. She heard Booth cursing behind her as he pulled out his gun and joined the pursuit. No doubt she'd hear another lecture later about how he was supposed to be protecting her, and how was he supposed to do that if she kept chasing suspects at every opportunity.

Brennan leaped onto a temporary staircase, feeling it shudder under both her, and her fugitive's weight. The condemned Pump house was lined with them, all looking out of place - 20th century steel in a backdrop of 18th century timber. The labyrinth wasn't helped by the fact that most of the windows had been removed prior demolition, meaning a slight ground-frost had crept onto the more exposed parts of the steel steps making them extremely slippery.

"Bones!" Booth hissed, grabbing the guardrail as the unsupported staircase swayed precariously under his momentum. The last thing he needed was for it to topple over, especially with his partner nearing the top of the two story structure. He could just about see the beam of his flashlight, bobbing and weaving it's way upwards as Brennan rounded another flight – _Trust Bones to be Queen of the stair-master..._

The Anthropologist was beginning to tire, blaming the long car journey combined with the icy cold weather for her stiff limbs. She could feel the burning sensation in her thighs as she fought to take the last few steps two at a time. The gap between her and her prey was closing though, she could hear his ragged breathing almost as clear as her own, and it spurred her on. They rounded a corner, Brennan almost close enough to touch him, catch him...but he had other plans.

In a well-rehearsed maneuver, the running man grabbed hold of an overhead zip-line, his momentum carrying his body clear over the room some twenty meters or so. Brennan's pace faltered on entering the room, feeling the rotting wood shifting unsteadily underfoot. She dropped the flashlight as she stumbled to an exposed ground beam, something which wouldn't splinter and fail, even if the remainder of the antique floorboards did. The only safe way from the room was back they way she'd came, and she had no doubt it wasn't a coincidence.

Panting, she cast her eyes over towards her intended prize, squinting to see him now that the flashlight was rolling uselessly somewhere behind her. She was surprised to see that he wasn't using this valuable time to make his escape, in fact, he almost seemed to be waiting – _Oh God, he didn't want me to chase him, he wanted - _

"Booth! No - Don't-" The realization and the words came simultaneously, but they were still too late. As soon as the Agent sprinted into the room, the sound of splintering wood became deafening. The decaying floorboards wilted and groaned under the additional weight before quickly giving way to nothing. Booth disappeared under a shower of dust and debris as part of the floor collapsed. Brennan could only watch on helplessly from her vantage point as her partner fell two stories down, and the man who lured him to his fate, simply turned and walked away.

The whole chase had been a set up – and Brennan had inadvertently lead Booth into the trap.

**TBC...**

**Let me know what you think, make my day, push the button! **


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay – blame several chapter rewrites (not that I'm a perfectionist in any way at all…seriously, I'm not.) Hopefully you all imagined the obligatory 'Ambulance pulling into the ER shot' that always seems to follow scenes such as the end of chapter one; you'll find the start of this chapter less annoying if you did. This will be a fairly long fic – so please don't get antsy if I leave open-ended questions scattered around. It's for good reason. Thanks for the awesome reviews so far - On with the show – Enjoy!**

"Bones, please!" Booth grovelled for what felt like the hundredth time in under ten minutes. "We need to get back to D.C."

Brennan stood firm. "No, Booth. You've got a concussion-"

"_Mild_ concussion." He emphasised 'Mild' in the hope that it would actually make a difference to Brennan's insistent argument. It didn't, she barely even acknowledged the interruption.

"You almost passed out during the Closed Reduction-" He'd hoped she hadn't noticed.

"I did not 'almost' pass out…" While that wasn't strictly true, Booth wasn't about to admit anything to Brennan, especially not while she was hindering his escape from damned War Memorial Hospital. "I have a sling – and a whole bunch of industrial strength painkillers. I'm good. Now, could you please give me my pants before the doc gets back?" The look which followed was unrelenting, but also verging dangerously close to begging.

With the pain numbed, Booth was returning to his normal self, a stark difference from barely two hours ago when Brennan had watched him being pulled from the debris of the Pump house by Sheriff Keller, barely conscious but racked with pain. His dislocated shoulder had been the result of several large pieces of rotten timber catching his arms as he desperately tried to find something to cling onto on the way down. It was this that saved him from crashing through the final floor – the ground floor. Beyond that was nothing but water, and the likely possibility of drowning – or freezing to death.

She'd have a hard time forgetting the vulnerability on her partner's face as he begged her to follow the ambulance in his car. He'd shakily insisted on the Sheriff riding with her to the hospital, partly because he simply didn't trust her to leave the remains in the hands of the local law enforcers, afraid that they'd lose them or destroy valuable evidence in some way. Brennan had some comfort in the knowledge that the bones were now being taken to the Jeffersonian, on Booth's specific orders.

It seemed even falling through two floors couldn't deter Booth from trying to salvage what was left of his investigation, bossing the Sheriff and his men from his confined position in the rear of the ambulance, with its driver desperate to get back to base. Ultimately, his presence as a Special Agent from the FBI hadn't lost any of its punch, despite the unscheduled setback. No doubt he was aware of the finicky, shaken manner in which his orders were barked at the similarly dazed law enforcers, which only went on to reinforce their opinion of him as a cocky son of a bitch – a very lucky, cocky son of a bitch.

Brennan had scoured the hospital on her arrival, only to be told that she'd have to wait by the ER while Booth was in Radiology. Waiting had only irritated her further as this gave her time to let her mind drift over the victim found in the Pump house. Male, 35 – 40 years old. With the limited light, that was all she'd been able to determine. Was it the missing 'Agent Thomas' as Booth feared? Who was the running man? Was he waiting for them all along? Brennan didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but she knew that Booth had taken an unhealthy interest in the case which had lead him to the local emergency room, although not without some help from her. Was Booth being completely honest with her about his involvement in the case? She had a feeling that he wasn't.

She'd been drawn from her thoughts by a harried-looking nurse who asked her to accompany her to a private room. As Brennan approached the far wing of the hospital, away from the hustle and bustle of the busy ER, the nurse gave a hurried account of Booth's injuries, explaining that although visiting time was over, Booth was refusing treatment until he knew that she was safe. Safe from what? The agitated receptionist in the ER?

Having been forced to watch while a determined doctor worked Booth's right Humerus into the Glenoid, Brennan waited patiently until the room eventually cleared, leaving just Booth and herself. This was where the madness had started. The Anthropologist put her partner's restless mood down to the cocktail of an open case, an unfamiliar town and the pain meds that she'd virtually begged him to accept whilst he'd had his shoulder put back into its socket. The visage of Booth clenching his teeth against what must have been unbearable pain, combined with the sound of muffled grunts as the doctor manipulated his joints proved to be too much for Brennan to handle, and she was hardly a squeamish person. In the end, she'd been the one to ask the doctor to provide something for the pain, much to Booth's unspoken relief.

To top off the whole unsuccessful West Virginian experience, Booth was now insisting on leaving the hospital and heading straight back to Washington. Brennan's only leverage was that she'd managed to acquire his pants before he'd had a chance to pull them on. Maddeningly, Booth was hunched on the edge of his hospital bed, gingerly pulling on a shirt and pleading with her to help him leave as if it was perfectly normal to sign oneself out against the orders of medical professionals.

"What's the big deal, Booth?" She shifted in the doorway; the earlier exercise bringing an uncomfortable stiffness to her limbs which she doubted even came close to the discomfort her partner was feeling at that moment. "At least stay the night."

Booth winced as he kicked the covers back from his legs, exposing some very tastefully chosen boxers. It wouldn't surprise the Anthropologist to learn that he'd virtually begged the nursing staff to let him keep the boxers on, claiming they were a gift from his young son. Brennan's eyes darted quickly from his legs to his face, catching the hint of a smirk as she did so. "The bones were sent over to the Jeffersonian, right?" Brennan nodded. "Is anyone there to collect them?" He was trying a different angle now, only Brennan hadn't caught on entirely.

She said, "I called Zach…"

"You're gonna let Zach play with our bones, while we sit here and die of boredom?"

"_Our_ bones?" She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and bemusement. "Booth, somebody tried to kill you – and you're telling me that you're worried about some bones?" She wasn't as gullible as he'd hoped, which wasn't much of a surprise but a disappointment.

However, he was certain that she was just itching to examine those remains herself, and must have been somewhat irked to call Zach and let him have first dibs on them. "C'mon, Bones. We'll be outta the State before they even realise I've gone..."

He slid his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing all thoughts, aside of getting from the bed to his car, to the back of his mind. No pain, no gain. He stumbled and pitched forwards within seconds of his feet touching the cool lino floor, forcing Brennan to leap from her doorway position to steady him.

"Are you insane?" Booth chose not to reply, instead using her proximity to make a successful grab for his pants. Brennan sighed, having fallen into that trap far too easily; she wouldn't be as forthcoming with his car keys.

"I need your help," he admitted, pulling on his pants with one hand and failing to contain a groan as his ribs protested. "There're some things that I might ask you to do-"

"Okay!" Brennan didn't even give him a chance to finish his sentence.

He glanced up, "Okay?"

"I'll help you." She handed him his keys, her last bargaining chip. She watched him gather up his belongings, not leaving anything behind; he even bagged his ruined jacket that was torn and far beyond repair.

"Really? Just like that?" He seemed surprised that she'd given in that easily, "You don't even know what you're getting into yet…" Brennan didn't care. If something was worth busting out of hospital with a recently dislocated shoulder and concussion, it must be important. If it involved Booth actually asking her for help, it was doubly important.

"If the roles were reversed, you'd help me - you wouldn't hesitate." Neither of them doubted it for a second. "You can give me all the relevant facts in the car – and then I can make an informed judgement as to whether or not I can actually help you."

"That's the Bones I know." Looking from the keys in his hand, then back to his partner, "Err…I think you're gonna have to drive."

Within ten minutes they were dodging doctors and leaving War Memorial Hospital through a quiet side exit. Booth's gait was far from steady, but he seemed determined to get out of there, so Brennan bit her tongue and made no observation. She was alarmed that she'd felt relief when Booth had told her to drive, but ultimately she put it down to the harrowing journey she'd endured just to get to West Virginia only hours ago. It was unlikely a dislocated shoulder and mild concussion would improve his driving.

The temperature difference from the hospital lobby to the parking lot was alarmingly high. Where the hospital had been stuffy and warm, the parking lot was anything but. Brennan could see her breath expelling clouds out in front of her eyes as she navigated the parking lot. "Over this way," she said, glancing back to check on her escapee. "Okay?"

"I'm fine." Booth shuddered, pulling at the collar of his shirt as he followed Brennan to his car, the sub-zero temperatures apparently not bothering her in the least. "Bones, did you park in the _doctor's_ section?" he asked, taking note of how close she'd managed to get to the hospital. In Booth's mind, hospital parking lots were notoriously busy at the weekend; in most hospitals, Friday nights were busier than usual with relatives finishing work for the week, looking to visit loved ones.

"I'm a doctor" she replied innocently. "I don't see anything that specifically ties this lot with doctors from this hospital. They should make their signs clearer." Her logic was watertight. It probably helped having Federal plates too, Booth thought, that would explain how she didn't get a ticket.

He remained impressed, even chuckling slightly as he climbed into the passenger seat. The improvement in his mood was dampened as his ribs protested against twisting to put his seatbelt on; Brennan was unable to ignore this, especially since Booth had made every effort in ensuring she didn't see his x rays on this occasion.

"You've got more fractures on the right side of your body…you shouldn't be leaving, Booth." Who was he kidding? She may as well have x ray vision - or the ability to sense when things simply weren't right. _Pity_ _Bones doesn't believe in sixth senses… _"I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd tell me what's going on." She started the ignition, immediately pushing buttons on the dash in an effort to warm the vehicle up. "It's my fault you've sustained those injuries. If I hadn't have chased that suspect-"

"You didn't force me onto this case, Bones, okay?" He'd already accepted three apologies for the night's events, one was more than enough. "I dragged you here, even though I knew you had a busy night planned with those Indians." He felt unbearably guilty already, involving Brennan in something so potentially dangerous, against her will. Forget the 'potentially', this was dangerous, and he'd already been careless enough to get himself injured. "Maybe you shouldn't get involved in this case at all."

"Firstly, they were Native Americans." She kept her attention the road as she spoke, but it was clear she was keen to have her say in the matter. "Secondly, I agreed to come with you – which is not consistent with 'dragging', as you put it. Thirdly, I want to help you solve this case – but I can only do that if I know all the facts. We're partners on this one, okay?"

He sighed. "Ask me anything you want to know." Finally, Booth seemed to be willing to share.

Brennan had her questions ready. "How did you know Agent Thomas?"

"We worked on the same case, four years ago. It was a kidnapping involving the wife of a company executive…unfortunately, it turned into murder." He didn't take his eyes off the moonlit trees passing his window as they sped down the highway. "I made some enquiries for Agent Thomas – knocked on some doors, interviewed some potential suspects. But the case went nowhere – our leads dried up into nothing...I haven't seen him for just over four years..." He fell silent.

Looking over, Brennan could see him gingerly repositioning himself on the passenger seat. She reminded herself that he'd forced her to drive him back to D.C and any discomfort was to be expected this early on in his recovery. The swelling around his right shoulder would mean that he'd have to keep the sling on for a few days, at least. His right hand was bruised from keeping hold of his gun during the fall. When questioned by Brennan, he'd simply stated 'a good Agent never loses his weapon.' She didn't doubt it. His ribs were obviously causing him far more discomfort than he wanted her to see, possibly fractured – if not, definitely bruised to hell.

The next burning question, "So why are you on this case?"

"I'm not." Booth's reply startled his partner.

"Then why are we here?" Brennan asked, an uneasy smile of confusion taking over her features.

"Agent Thomas is still the investigator on this case."

"But you said yourself, he's missing."

"Not according to the FBI." Booth thought carefully before continuing, "On the kidnapping case four years ago, the company executive was _Hank Chapman_ – the same Hank Chapman who was murdered and dumped in the Cacapon Resort State Park nine days ago. As soon as I heard Joe was on the case, I contacted him – and stayed in contact until two days ago. The FBI won't know he's missing 'till he fails to report in. He told me he'd contact me – he's a man of his word, Bones."

"You think all this is related. Agent Thomas' disappearance, the first case _and_ the Hank Chapman case?" Brennan could just about see the logic behind her partners thinking, even if she still felt as though he was still keeping important details from her. "The same killer?"

"I know it is." Booth growled. "The son of a bitch is still playing with Agents – it's his ammo. He thinks he's smarter and faster than America's best. This time he knows we've got something that can bring him down. He's scared – and it's gonna consume him 'till he makes that one mistake."

"Then we arrest him, right?" Booth nodded. Brennan had to ask, "What do you have that would make him this jumpy?"

"You, Bones. We've got you."

**TBC...**


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note: Apologies to MyMia – I know I promised this a couple of days ago (I'm so bad at estimating my own workload...I'm amazed I get anything done!) Hopefully this will both delight and confuse you guys further (I know I've done my job right if it does!) Enjoy! **

Booth awoke as Brennan pulled into the parking garage of the Jeffersonian. His immediate reaction was to groan as he made the mistake of attempting a stretch. His right shoulder felt as though someone had poured a slurry of sand, glass and wet cement into the joint. It was agony to move, and Booth would not be surprised if he looked down to discover that it had swollen to over ten times its normal size. It hadn't, but that knowledge didn't help ease the pain at all. It did make for a distraction from the throbbing in his head.

He was mildly annoyed that Brennan had simply let him drift off during the return journey. Though, he mainly blamed his increased fatigue on the combination of strong painkillers and the fact that the car heater was up so damned high. It was hot enough that the car now had its own ecosystem, suitable for growing bananas and kiwifruit.

Shaking two painkillers from his hospital-issue prescription into his hand, Booth ignored the pointed look he was getting from Brennan. To give her credit, she had kept her mouth shut and refrained from comment since the hospital. For that, he was particularly grateful. It would be interesting to see how long this act of restraint would last. Dr Temperance Brennan wasn't exactly famed for her discreet, unassuming manner, after all.

He said, "Okay, let's go." Though it was mostly for his own benefit, especially since Brennan had already stepped out of the car. He gingerly clambered down from the passenger side, motioning to his partner to get going without him. Walking was going to be hard enough; he didn't need Brennan watching him like a hawk to see which particular bones were giving him grief. For the moment, he couldn't pinpoint one particular ache that stood out from the crowd.

His whole body felt as though it was being crushed by an invisible force. Bones grinded and muscles screamed in protest as he pushed the door closed. He took a moment, leaning against the car, to regain some sort of composure before following his partner.

He'd been through worse – physically. A _lot_ worse. But this case was haunting. This case had almost killed him four years ago. He hadn't told Brennan, but it _had_ killed one Agent – and if her findings were as he feared they would be, that number would now go up to two Agents. Two of the good guys. It was this thought that spurred him on, and forced him to proceed upstairs, away from the safety blanket of his vehicle.

When he entered the unusually soundless Lab, he heard Brennan's livid tone scolding someone. He'd been on the end of that tone enough to know that something was seriously wrong. He quickened his pace, heading directly towards her office. She was on the phone, standing behind her desk as though this would intimidate the person on the other end of the line. She had a frown on her face that would stop nuclear missiles dead in their tracks. Zach was sitting bolt upright on the sofa adjacent to her, his eyes widened as Booth entered, turning confusion to shock. Obviously Brennan hadn't mentioned the fact that Booth looked like he'd been run over by a train.

The Anthropologist let loose a verbal spat that contained words that Booth surmised would leave the poor person the other end of the line reaching for their dictionary. She was mad.

Booth turned, directing his question to Zach, who seemed to have settled on a look of bewilderment. "What's going on?"

"The package Dr Brennan asked me to take delivery of never arrived." The young doctor replied, aiming his response to Booth's sling. "What happened to you?" he asked, receiving no reply from the Agent.

Booth was momentarily speechless, shocked into a daze that threatened to unmask the weakness behind his carefully assumed appearance. _No remains_. He stumbled towards Brennan, rapping the knuckles of his left hand on the desk. He mouthed 'Sheriff Keller' and she nodded in response. The Sheriff had arranged the carriage of the remains. Was it unfair to assume he had a hand in their disappearance too?

Brennan finished up the call. "I'm sorry, Booth." She pulled out her digital camera, explaining as she went. "He won't say how, but the remains are 'missing'. The Sheriff sent them here with two of his best men…although, how exactly he justifies if a man is good at delivering human remains is beyond my understanding." She plugged the memory card into the drive to access the few photographs she'd been able to get before they'd been rudely interrupted in the Pump house.

"Somehow I don't think that's what he meant by 'two best men', Bones." Booth replied, reaching out with his good hand to tilt her monitor towards him, much to Brennan's exasperation. A few images flashed across the screen. "Whoa! Go back – go back!"

Brennan complied, pausing as she saw what had her partner so excited. It was their prey from the Pump house. He may have been standing well back, hiding in the shadows, but Brennan's flash had exposed him briefly, before either of them had spotted him.

"He was there to make sure I was." Booth said. "The remains were just bait…you said yourself, the escape route was meticulously planned. He just needed to get close enough to see us."

"You're implying the remains were planted there for our benefit?" Brennan asked. "For _your_ benefit."

"It was some distraction…" Realisation dawned as Booth replied. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to get him out of D.C. "I need a ride."

"What – where?" Brennan was having trouble accepting Booth's line of reasoning. She wondered just how concussed he really was.

"We need to see Hank Chapman." He pulled out his phone. "But first I need to see the man who was convicted of murdering Hank Chapman's wife."

Brennan gave him a look that suggested he'd lost his mind. "It's 1AM, Booth! You need sleep, and possibly a meeting with your shrink. Something about this case has pushed you off the road."

"The rails...off the rails." He sighed. "But..." Shock horror, Brennan was right. "A ride home would be good." Why fight it? He needed to re-evaluate his position on the case. Was it time to bring in help, or was he capable of investigating this alone?

Unknown to Brennan, he wasn't even supposed to be working this week. Two days ago he'd been strongly advised by a much more senior colleague, a superior of sorts, to take a vacation. It hadn't seemed like a request at the time. But Booth had complied, planning to meet with Agent Joe Thomas in West Virginia. Only, Agent Thomas hadn't called – and Booth was left with a nagging feeling that something was up. He couldn't ignore that feeling. It brought back too many memories of the Chapman kidnapping case from four years previous.

"Booth? You sure you're okay? You don't look it..." He was jolted from his memories by Brennan's worried question.

He pulled his face into a weak grimace. "Sure. It's just those pills, they make me nauseous." It wasn't entirely a lie – the painkillers were beginning to take effect, and they weren't pleasant.

Brennan frowned, wishing she had the ability to read Booth as well as he could read her. "Okay, Zach needs to be dropped off, so he's coming with us. I'll meet you at the car."

"Sure." Again, Booth was shutting her out. He seemed too distracted.

It took Brennan barely ten minutes to lock up the lab. When she returned to Booth's car, her partner was rummaging around in the trunk whilst Zach sat patiently in the back. As she got closer she saw him pull out a thick file from under a pile of various FBI issue jackets. "What's going on, Booth?"

He replied, "Nothing that can't be explained in the morning, Bones. Don't worry..." He refused to get drawn into a late night question and answer session with his partner, especially if he had to stand throughout it. He climbed into the passenger seat before she could even scowl at him.

The journey to Hodgin's was silent and tension-filled. Zach virtually leapt out of the car when it came to a standstill outside the gates to his abode. He gave a small wave in thanks for the ride and Brennan waited until he disappeared before glancing at Booth. She wondered how long it would be before she got her old partner back. She didn't much like this new secretive, distracted Agent.

As if reading her mind, Booth said, "Tomorrow, Bones. Tomorrow I'll tell you the whole story."

She pulled away from the kerb. "I didn't ask."

"You shouldn't have to." he replied quietly, gripping the file tighter with his good hand. He needed to get some things clear in his own mind before he could even consider letting Brennan into his mess.

Booth flipped the radio on, needing something to fill the silence that was normally filled by criminal motive explanations, philosophical debates, or just plain awkward questions being fired at him from his partner. He longed for the return of normality, but knew it wouldn't come easy with the Chapman case open.

The radio confirmed the fact that temperatures were dropping well below zero degrees. No shit. You'd have to be a polar bear not to notice. _Jesus, if you'd fallen through that last floor, no way you'd have survived being plunged underwater_. The morbid thought was enough to send a shiver down the Agent's spine.

Brennan insisted on walking her partner up to his apartment. He did, after all, look like he was about to collapse with exhaustion at any moment. Amused by the prospect, Booth wondered how she thought she'd carry him if he did collapse. He was certain he weighed more than just a few pounds more than her.

He was still puzzling over this when he slid the key into his front door, stepping back when the door gave a little. Someone had broken in. _Oh God. _He thrust the file into Brennan's hands, successfully containing a groan as he twisted to reach for his gun. The Anthropologist struggled to keep hold of the file as Booth forced her back with his elbow. It dropped to the floor with a sudden bang that echoed slightly in the silent hallway. The Agent used this as his cue to enter his apartment, trying to ignore how vulnerable he felt with his weapon in his left hand.

He made a quick scan of each room, his adrenaline working overtime as he readied himself for an attack. Nothing came. He noted a few papers strewn about untidily, not as he'd left them. He stumbled over to his couch, his legs refusing to correspond with his brain. He picked up the piece of paper resting on top of his coffee table. It wasn't familiar. In the centre was a drawing of a Phoenix. He stared at it, willing it to reach out from the page and scream at him. It didn't. He replaced the page and looked up at his partner. "I don't think our talk can wait 'till the morning."

"They were looking for this." She held up the file, Booth nodded. He felt comfort in knowing he'd hidden it in his car. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's the Elizabeth Chapman murder file." He swallowed thickly, watching for a reaction. "I've got a feeling she was killed by a Federal Agent four years ago. I think he killed his own partner too."

Brennan sat down opposite her partner, pieces of the puzzle falling into a disturbing picture. "You'd have to be pretty sure, Booth."

Booth laughed humourlessly, "I'm about as sure as I am the fact that Hank Chapman was killed by the same Agent less than two weeks ago."

Brennan took a while to digest that before asking, "why haven't you told anyone?" Booth was hardly 'Agent Vigilante', even after the Marvin Beckett triumph. Although, she could see the logic behind the closely guarded secrets so far.

"You can't just throw allegations like that around in the FBI, Bones. They'd hang me without concrete evidence. All I have are inconsistencies, little details that don't add up..." he sighed, bringing his hand up to rub over his eyes. The headache from hell was back with a vengeance. "There is one other person who knows about this - and I think he may still be alive."

"Agent Thomas..."

**TBC...**


End file.
